Apocalypse: Fairy System Macronomicon (a book to read txt) 📖

“My fee.”

“How do I know you’ll follow through? I’m not so naïve as to part with my money before a service has been rendered. I’ll give you money when I see that bastard’s head bleeding on my desk.”

Kol gave a flat stare. “My reputation is sterling. Yours leaves much to be desired. You will pay me in advance. I could just as easily kill you right now and walk away with the money in your desk. Do not test me.”

“Ahem. Yes.”

Grenore pulled out a drawer and swiftly placed five leather cases on the table, each carrying forty bulbs.

Kol picked them up and slung their straps over his shoulder, hid the cases under his flowing clothes, then picked up the letter. He wasn’t actually going to deliver them, no matter what he told his clients. Who was going to contradict him? The target?

Kol had become fairly adept at lying, describing the anger, fear and anguish as his target read the final message from his employer. Actually giving them the letter was too much of a security risk, but that service was entirely for the client’s gratification anyway, so a lie worked just as well.

The moment the letter was in his hand, Kol’s second Class Ability, Unerring Delivery kicked in, and he felt an immaterial tug guiding him towards his target. Towards the south.

“Thank you for your patronage. Expect word from me in about three grent.” Kol pocketed the letter and turned away, still feeling the gradual tug toward the recipient of the letter.

‘Become a courier, son. There’s a lot of job opportunities out there for people who can deliver.’ How right he was. In the history of the world, how many couriers had reached level fifty? Not too damn many.

Which was why his ability to find anyone, anywhere, was so highly valued. Kol took the occasional side job finding lost children or relatives, but hunting down traitors and assassinating them paid much, much better.

“Three grent? It only takes four weeks to get there! I swear, if this is some kind of scam…”

Kol glanced over his shoulder, and the windbag deflated, unwilling to complain to Kol’s face. Kol rolled his eyes and turned away again, leaving the office. Scammers see scams everywhere they look. It was the nature of the beast.

“Well, that’s settled. Now the…” Kol heard Grenore say before he faded out of earshot.

Kol left the way he’d come, stepping out onto the street and taking a moment to breathe in the fresh mountain air. It wouldn’t be long until he had to deal with the stench of Solmnath. He turned to the south, allowing the tugging sensation from his Ability to guide his feet.

He had a letter to deliver.

Chapter 11: Buying Company

“This must be the place,” Jeb said, glancing up at the sign. ‘Otto’s Slave House’ hung over the door, according to Smartass, but it wasn’t sleazy and written on a plank of wood; it was carved into marble and gold, hung above the entrance of the fancy-looking building by thin strands of some kind of unnaturally strong silk.

The only thing that gave the place away as a den of scum and villainy was the stench of hopelessness and the subtle change in the flavor of local Myst and spirits. They were darker, somehow.

“Yeah, I’m not too sure about this place,” Smartass said, hiding in his collar as he walked into the main lobby. It was like the entrance to an opera house, all red carpets and snooty staffers.

The entire place was lit with a warm glow, which did little to offset the unease that Jeb felt as he approached the main desk. The keegan watched him from behind the desk, brow raised.

No matter what happened now, the most important thing was to avoid getting added to the merchandise.

“I’m sorry sir, but we do not serve human—”

Jeb slung three cases of bulbs, a hundred and twenty of them in total, onto the desk with a satisfying thunk. Over seven pounds of gold.

“How about we skip all of that shit and get to the part where you sell me some people?” Jeb asked, giving the guy the do not fuck with me look he’d developed in his time in the army. A well-timed staredown was often better than minutes of useless explanations and haggling. It allowed the other guy to fill in their own blanks.

“You must be the human who bought the Linnorn manor,” a keegan said, approaching from the side. “Please forgive my employee’s impudence. Your money is good here.”

Of course it is, Jeb thought, slinging the cases back over his shoulder.

The new keegan motioned to the side with delicate fingers. Jeb tried to figure out if it was male or female, then decided he didn’t care, following alongside the slave trader.

“My name is Colus. I assume you’re here to look for staffers for your new home? We have some young women who would be perfect for a virile man such as yourself. There hasn’t been much time to train them, obviously, but there’ve been so many humans selling themselves and each other for a meal that it’s a bit of a buyer’s market out there. As such, we can simply use the power of numbers to search for people who most closely match your tastes.

“Are you looking for a project, perhaps? A girl that will take some time and effort, but be rewarding to tame? Or perhaps you prefer a more docile, bookish type? Or a matronly housewife to care for your body and soothe your spirits?”

“Are you working me right now?” Jeb asked, frowning. “Never mind, of course you are. I don’t think anybody’s ever called me virile before. Feels weird. Just arrange for me to view everyone you’ve got,” Jeb said. “I’ll do the rest myself.”

“As